


Something Sacred

by Scriptor



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor/pseuds/Scriptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick/Future!Damian. An (almost) 18 year old Damian pushes Dick's buttons. M for chapter 2. </p>
<p>Originally submitted for a DCUKink challenge; prompt: Dick/Damian and Escrima sticks. Don't say I didn't warn you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> More fanfiction.net story migration! I wrote this in 2010! I want to finish it soon though.
> 
> My disclaimer; I have no idea what is canon now because I can't keep up a damned pull list. What even is Batman these days?

"I just don't know if it's a good idea, adding them to your arsenal, Damian." Dick said, frowning at his sidekick who was twirling the escrima sticks in his hands.

"I don't see why not. I'd kick some serious ass with these." Damian did a flip, imitating how he'd bash the skull of some street thug with one of the sticks, balancing with the other as he landed.

"Maybe it's just – "Dick began, trailing off and looking back at the computer.

"What?" Damian asked in a huff. The boy, though almost 18, was still impetuous.

"Nothing. Let's finish up this cataloguing and get to bed." It was already 4 AM and the night hadn't exactly been a cake walk: a couple drug busts, a brief run-in with Scarecrow. Nothing major but nothing easy either.

Damian cocked an eyebrow and came to stand behind the chair. "Ahh, I get it…" he began. "They're kind of like, your legacy. You don't want me using them, is that it?"

Dick furrowed his brow and harrumphed a little, not answering the boy.

"It is, isn't it?" Damian pressed, now leaning his back against the console and staring at his mentor, waiting.

"It sounds stupid but… yes." Dick gave in.

"Knew it."

Damian, always so sure of himself.

"Using 'em anyway though." While gloating, Dick quickly vacated the chair and headed out of the bunker, pissed at himself, at Damian, at the past and the present. Thinking about the weapon, though merely a tool of aggression, they symbolized something to him: all the years as Nightwing, when he'd become his own man, his own hero – Bludhaven's hero – out from the shadow of Bruce. And yet, in the mantle of the Bat, they still hit a nerve with him and it made him want to throttle Damian for being so flippant about something he took quite seriously.

As he approached the elevator to head to the penthouse, he heard the quiet footfalls of Damian behind. Though they went up in silence, Dick was fuming. "Maybe I could rig some kind of thigh sheath; for easy access."

"No, Damian." Dick said firmly, not even making eye contact as they made their way through the darkened kitchen, the living room, and on towards the bedrooms.

"Ooh, or maybe a holster on my back. How sick would that be?" Damian knew what he was doing; that side of him never really thinned out even as he molded to be Robin as years went on. He may have fallen into the role well, become a little bit more reverent, but his roots of being the protégé of the League of Assassins were embedded in his very being. He would always know how to get under Batman's skin.

In fact, this wasn't the first time he'd tried it and Dick really gave thought to what Damian was aiming at; if it was merely to aggravate him or for some other ulterior motive. Were the looks Damian gave him now, as he intimated where he'd store the weapon, a taunt or a tease?

Dick neared his room, rested a hand on the doorframe and turned to look at his sidekick, now almost as tall as he. He tested his theory now. "I'm not going to say it again. NO." Damian looked, for a mere second, dejected. But he quickly mustered a devious grin and twirled a baton in his mentor's face, mockingly. Things can happen, as they say, in the blink of an eye. And it only took an instant for Dick to apprehend the weapon and jam it up under Damian's jawbone, cold steel pressing him into the wall, toes nearly lifted off the floor. He tried to yell but his throat was closed off enough to stifle the objections, his hands clawing at Dick's gauntlets. Managing to move the stick slightly, he croaked out, "Let me down, asshole."

Unceremoniously, Dick dropped the stick and let the boy fall to the ground. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He growled, huffing into his room to change, though he thought about doing something entirely different.

Damian sat on the floor, rubbing at his throat and catching his breath. It wasn't like him to feel schooled but this time, he did.

Dick had pulled the door to but left a wide enough gap for the boy to see in. Dick stood shirtless in the stark light of his bathroom, washing up.

He didn't knock, he just went in, making his presence known by sitting on the end of the bed, which creaked under his muscled weight.

"What now?" Grayson queried, toweling his face and shutting off the bathroom light.

Damian scowled at him but said nothing.

Dick exhaled through his nose and took a step closer. "You disappoint me, Damian."

"I won't use them. I'll be better." He offered.

"I just want you to respect my request."

"I will. I… I respect you." Damian said, and Dick knew it was hard for the kid to make that allowance, then. There was something in the boy's body language, as he hung his head, shamefully. Dick felt for the boy.

The two had become very close over the years as Batman and Robin – in the work relationship sense - but there were still some things – some hidden places – that had yet to be trespassed. Tonight, they went there. Damian crossed the line. It was time for Dick to do the same.

Dick stepped closer to him, lifted his chin up so as to get a better look. "Forgiven." His eyes were true, he meant it. Damian pulled his face out of the man's grasp and leaned back, warily. "Ok, I don't want to get all sappy." And he got up to leave, mission accomplished, air cleared, but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pulled him back, turned him around to face him. Of course there was hesitation – what was Dick doing? – eyes searching faces, for some hint of… vulnerability.

The answer came in the form of a kiss, delivered slowly yet firmly to Damian's lips. Dick knew he was taking an awfully huge risk because Damian could have chosen one pressure point and dropped him to the floor easy as a child, so the action itself was tentative. But as the younger man's mouth beneath his gave way, opening, and allowing, he eased some, relieved.

Pulling back, "I have to go." Damian said, though his tone seemed to lie. "No, you don't." Dick's hand slid down Damian's arm, fell down to his fingers and lightly brushed them. "Stay."

It was Damian's turn to exhale, exasperated, fraught with decisions. This was never his intention – ever – with the man. The kiss was one thing. Staying in his bedroom was entirely another. He briefly wondered if this was his punishment for pushing so hard, for being such a jerk. Damian's eyes flitted from the window across the room, to the dim light on the nightstand, to Dick's face – only briefly – then down to the ground. With a sigh, Damian lifted a foot and nudged the door shut behind them.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian gets what he deserves

Some things can be communicated with just a look. Dick Grayson knew he had the talent to convey things in such a manner. But working with Damian had a tendency to make him doubt even his best skills. This would not be easy. Though the beginnings of trust were there, just now starting to bud, he knew that with Damian, you were always walking on eggshells.

Damian was not used to intimacy; his chief method of displaying emotion was via violence and skilled martial artistry. This was how he dealt with frustration, sadness, and happiness. To him, it had all been the same. But don't tell Dick that he hadn't seen cracks in the boy's armour here and there. He could see them now, muted light of the lamp casting shadows upon the boy's face but catching the subtlety of his blue eyes. Possibly even the desire that he hoped smoldered beneath his steely surface, his outer shell of defense that was almost always engaged.

He resituated a hand on Damian's shoulder, tentatively. "Grayson…" Damian began in a warning tone.

"Don't tell me you haven't… wanted to…"

Damian made a thinking noise, frowned, and looked at the ground "Don't make me say it." This was Damian's ultimatum. Still human, still not without needs and desires, it only took the action to sway him.

A tip of the chin and Dick resumed kissing him, amazed at how soft lips could be on a boy equipped with such a steely exterior. There was hesitation but Damian's hands found their way to Dick's hips, settled there, flexed. Years of repressed feelings for his sidekick seemed to flood to the surface. There were never words for it; just a sort of entity that had grown and been nurtured by the working relationship… by the bond forged after Bruce's death, when they both lost their father.

Damian pulled back suddenly, acutely aware of drifting hands seeking lower on his own hips.

"Don't worry…" Dick reassured.

"I'm not… worried." Damian looked up at him. Then, with a ferocity catching Dick completely off guard, he initiated the kiss, stumbling them backwards onto the bed in a heap. In everything Damian ever did in the field, he was straightforward and fearless. This sudden turn of events was no exception and Dick sort of liked being on the receiving end instead of the one in control, the one giving the commands. In any partnership, there is give and take. Dick was happy to see Damian learning this. Especially since he always wondered if sometimes Damian only acted brave; he was certainly good at hiding any misgivings, any true fears. But Dick wanted honesty, wanted bared-soul candor.

After what seemed an eternity spent getting to know the curves of each others lips, collarbones and necklines, Damian leaned up on one arm. "You're not bad at this, Grayson."

"You neither, little D."

"Little?" Damian growled. "Not so anymore, eh", he boasted, flexing his other arm. Dick caught sigh of the bulge of his bicep in that soft light, accentuating the build and slope, making him want to know more of the boy's body.

"Well, I'm Big D so you can't have that nickname." Dick gave him a goofy sort of grin.

"Stroking your own ego, as usual, Grayson." Damian scoffed, sitting up and removing his shirt, revealing sculpted abs, golden and beautiful. He then began unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down past boxer briefs. "Well?" he asked, intimating with a nod that Dick was falling behind.

"Hmm, one sec." Dick had a glint in his eye, something wily, as he hopped from the bed. Damian followed his movement to the closet where he held something behind his back before turning off the light. "What are you…?" Damian wondered aloud before Dick hopped back onto the bed and sought, with fingers alone, another kiss.

As their eyes adjusted, both men felt the excitement in not being able to see, only feel. Dick removed his own boxers before tending to Damian's, hands slowly gliding back up his legs.

"You're kind of a procrastinator, Grayson." Damian half-whispered, arching up in the older man's touch.

"And you need to learn some patience. Now, turn over."

"What are you planning?" Damian asked warily.

Dick shushed him and reached out to make sure the boy was flat on his stomach.

"A lesson in obedience. You could use it."

Damian spat out a –Ttt - right before his entire body shuddered as a smooth, somewhat wet metal object traced the curves of his back and downward. That did explain the fumbling Grayson was doing near the nightstand, he supposed. At first, he had no idea what was going on but expected this to be, after all, some kind of punishment for his previous transgression. That's when he figured out what was now parting his cheeks, slowly, seductively. Taking away the sense of sight changed the sensation immensely and Damian instinctively tensed right before the object was removed.

"Dick?" he questioned.

"Hang on…" An arm snaked underneath Damian's midsection, raising him up onto his knees. "Stay." Dick commanded. Soon, something replaced the former object – definitely a finger - upon Damian's ass, spreading him open and entering him, eliciting a slight moan from the younger man. Though only one mere digit, Damian was inexperienced and tight. Pulling out, Damian whimpered but his tune changed when something larger and much colder was pushing inside him. A feral sort of instinctual growl left his lips as Dick slowly worked the escrima stick in and out of him, working in time with the rhythm Damian's hips had found. He muttered, through clenched teeth, "Goddamn."

"Is it good?"

"Mmm hmmm…" And Damian leaned back with much deliberation, yearning, needing more.

"Fitting though…" Dick whispered, slowly, torturously removing the stick almost until it slipped out, hesitating, then sliding it back in. Damian was panting now, his arms slightly shaky – Dick could tell – and he knew the boy was over stimulated. He leaned into Damian, brushing his lips against his ear, the tiny hairs that just barely grazed the top. "How long do you think you can hold out?"

"Nnngh, not… long." Damian leaned into the breathy whisper, wantonly giving himself over to the assault on his senses. In the darkness, Dick found Damien's hard cock and gave it a couple strokes. "Come for me."

"Dammit, Grayson," Damian cursed as he let go, then, as Dick's hands continued to work him from both sides. Spent, Damian fell to the bed on his stomach in a heap, realizing that Dick still held him, even as he fell to the boy's side. After a few silent moments, he rolled to be free of Dick's arm and spat angrily, "Now I kind of feel like I should be punished." With that, he shoved himself off the bed and left the room as silently as he'd entered.


End file.
